


So

by pringlesaremydivision



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Face Slapping, Femdom, Fingerfucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-04 08:33:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4131174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pringlesaremydivision/pseuds/pringlesaremydivision
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agent Thompson is so pliable, so eager to please here before her, that it almost makes up for the utter lack of respect he gives Peggy in the field.</p><p>Almost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So

**Author's Note:**

> This came quite literally out of nowhere. It's unbeta'd.
> 
> Not really great BDSM practices, but they're both consenting adults, so. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Agent Thompson is so pliable, so eager to please here before her, that it almost makes up for the utter lack of respect he gives Peggy in the field.

Almost.

He’s so lovely down on his knees, blond hair mussed and back ramrod straight, naked as the day he was born while Peggy remains fully clothed, not a single article of clothing out of place. The thrill of power is intoxicating, more arousing than any touch, and Peggy has already soaked through her underwear, can feel her juices slick and warm on her inner thighs. She presses them together, the only outward sign that she is at all affected by anything that’s occurring.

Her heart is racing.

In front of her, beneath her, Agent Thompson watches from beneath lowered lashes, his arms behind his back and his cock dripping precome onto the wooden floor. He doesn’t speak. He knows better than that - here, at least. But Peggy can tell he wants to, can tell he’s  _dying_  to - to beg, to order her to touch him, to do  _anything_.

The fact that he doesn’t sends another thrill thrumming through Peggy’s body, straight to her cunt.

She lets him sit a moment longer, waiting, wondering,  _wanting_ , the silence thick and heavy, very nearly tangible in the darkening room, before she grasps his chin firmly between thumb and forefinger and tilts his head up, his gaze locking onto her face, his eyes hazy and desperate.

“Agent Thompson,” Peggy begins, running a red-nailed finger along his bottom lip, smiling at the gasp he tries so hard to contain, “what am I to do with you?”

She waits a moment to see if he’ll respond, then waits another. When no answer is forthcoming, she draws back her hand and slaps him, hard, against the cheek. The impact leaves a red mark high on his cheekbone, a lovely contrast to the paler skin around it.

“I asked you a question, Agent,” Peggy reprimands, hand hovering in the air, waiting. Her palm tingles from the slap, the feeling more satisfying than a kiss. She shifts again, minutely, her sticky thighs rubbing against one another.  _Oh_ , she wants. But not yet.

“Whatever you want,” Agent Thompson answers, and Peggy cracks him hard against the face again, on the other side this time, the feel of her knuckles against his cheek brutal and delicious. His head rocks back from the force, but the rest of his body stays still, though Peggy can see the muscles in his arms tensing, knows he’s clenching his fists behind his back.

 _So good_ , she thinks, but does not say it.

“I’m sorry, I must have misheard you, Agent. What was that you said?”

“Whatever you want,  _ma'am_ ,” he corrects himself, and Peggy has to keep from answering him with a smile. It wouldn’t do to encourage him.

“Indeed,” she muses, pressing two fingers against the mark she’s made on his cheek. His eyes flutter shut as he leans into her touch, and Peggy does allow herself a smile then, when he cannot see her. 

“Take off my underwear, Agent Thompson,” Peggy whispers, cupping his jaw in the palm of her hand, drawing his eyes up to her own once again. She feels the muscles beneath her fingers twitch and watches his eyes grow dark and hungry. “Yes, this is what you’ve been wanting, isn’t it? I wonder - which is it that you like better, Agent? Is it the slap of my hand against that impertinent mouth of yours or having your head buried between my thighs that makes you hard? Is it the pain in your knees from sitting before me, or the taste of my cunt on your tongue that you think about when you take yourself in hand after I’ve gone? Or is it both, Agent?”

“ _Yes_ ,” he whispers harshly, breath coming in shuddering gasps as he reaches under her skirt and hooks two fingers under the waistband of her underwear, drawing them down her legs, his fingernails leaving scratches on her slick thighs. Peggy moans, unbidden, and spreads her legs wide as he tugs the soaked fabric all the way off. “ _Yes_ , Peg - ma’am, all of it, every fucking bit, please,  _please -”_

He groans when she slaps him again, fingers tightening on her knees.

“When  _I say_ ,” Peggy hisses, slipping her other hand around his throat and pressing hard, just for a moment, just long enough to feel his Adam’s apple bob beneath her hand as he swallows. “You don’t dictate this, Agent Thompson. Kindly remember that.” She releases his throat, smiling as he sucks in a gasp of air, and gives him just a moment to compose himself before she threads her fingers in his hair and draws his face to her cunt.

He falls upon her like a man starving, hands moving up to her thighs to spread them even wider, and the first touch of his tongue on her clit sends her hips shooting up from the chair, knuckles going white in the tangle of his hair. She’s been on edge for so long that it’s barely a minute before she’s coming, her cunt clenching around nothing, aching to be filled. She shivers as she lowers herself back down, feeling sweat drip from her brow down the curve of her neck, her hair coming free from her carefully-set curls to stick against her fevered skin.

The orgasm is good, but it barely takes the edge off. She needs so much more, and Agent Thompson is so very eager to provide, his mouth never stopping its movements against her.  _So greedy_ , she thinks, but in this alone she cannot fault him.

“Again, Agent Thompson,” she pants, not releasing her grip on his hair, damp and sweaty. “And use your hands this time.” She lets out a low moan when he hurries to comply, both thumbs stroking the joins between her thighs and her mound, the skin there slick with sweat, with her juices and his spit. He dips his head and flicks her clit once, twice, before dipping lower, moving his thumbs to hold her open as he laps at her entrance, tongue working up and down her slit but never delving inside.

The tease of his touch, of his thumbs and his tongue nearly but not quite inside her, are enough to drive her mad. Throwing one leg over Agent Thompson’s shoulder, she presses the heel of her pump against his back, drawing a sharp, strangled noise from him that sends vibrations buzzing against her lips. “Don’t make me remind you again, Agent,” she says, and he glances up at her with need written so plainly on his shining face that she nearly loses her breath.

“Yes ma’am,” he murmurs, and slips two fingers inside her, the slide as easy as a hot knife through butter. Peggy doesn’t think she’s ever been this wet in her life, and the sounds Agent Thompson’s fingers make as they fuck into her are obscene, are  _filthy,_ in the quiet of the room. He crooks his fingers up, thumping against that glorious spot inside her, and she can feel another orgasm building at the base of her spine, making her stomach clench.

“Another finger, Agent Thompson,” she grits out, tugging his head close again, “and your mouth as well, that’s a good lad.”

He lets out a long, low groan at the praise and redoubles his efforts, three fingers pounding into her, stretching her so deliciously. She’s so close, she’s nearly there, she can feel it in her toes and her fingertips as he seals his lips over her clit and sucks, hard, so hard it almost hurts. It's perfect, the pain heightening the pleasure, and she grinds shamelessly against his face as she comes for the second time, her cunt squeezing tight and wet around him. His fingers never slow even as she twitches and moans above him, and it's very nearly too much, now, her nerves popping and her skin oversensitive, but she holds him against her nonetheless, breath catching in her throat as she tightens her thighs around his ears and arches up.

She deserves more from this man, so much more, and she will make him give it to her, in the only way she's able.

Pulling him roughly away from her, stifling a whine at the loss of his mouth against her skin, she surveys the mess she's made of him. Her juices coat his cheeks and chin, shiny in the light filtering in from the streetlamps outside, and when she glances down she sees his cock so hard it's nearly touching his belly, the flesh an angry red, slick from the precome that's been oozing steadily from the tip since the moment he undressed. "You'd like to come, wouldn't you, Agent Thompson?"

He licks his lips and nods fervently. "Yes - yes, ma'am." His fingers twitch where they rest on his thighs.

Peggy smiles wolfishly. "On your back, Agent Thompson."

The look he gives her is full of disbelief. She knows he thinks she means to climb atop him, to ride him, and as he lowers himself to the floor she allows him the fantasy, straddling his waist as she hikes up her skirt to her hips. He looks up at her hungrily, desperately, and Peggy wants to laugh.

She kneels above his mouth, and the frustrated groan he lets out is music to her ears.

"You should know better than that, Agent," she murmurs, whimpering as his tongue darts out to slide between her lips. Leaning back, she rests her hands on his flushed chest for balance, nails digging into the skin beneath her. She starts a slow rhythm against his mouth, dragging her hips across his face, the tension in his body only heightening her arousal. She wants to come again, wants him to  _make_ her come again, but she's so wrung out she's not sure if she'll be able.

Which, of course, is no reason not to  _try_.

"Let me remind you, Agent, that if you find yourself incapable of bringing me to orgasm at least once more, I'll be forced to keep you from coming yourself. You wouldn't want all this hard work to be wasted, would you?"

It's an empty threat, of course - what Agent Thompson does after she leaves is none of her business, and he can pull himself off until his cock is raw from it for all Peggy cares - but she knows the taunt, the insinuation that he isn't able to satisfy her, that he isn't skilled enough, will spur him on.

 _So fragile_ , she thinks. So fragile, so pathetic, so  _predictable_ \- because sure enough, only a moment later Agent Thompson is gripping her hips and pulling her cunt firmly against his mouth, tongue working furiously against her throbbing clit. Peggy laughs even as she moans, and digs her fingers harder into his chest. So ridiculous, but she will take it, she'll take _everything_ from him and she'll make him beg to give her more, and it's not enough to make up for everything else, it'll  _never_  be enough but it's certainly better than nothing, and -

"Yes, Agent Thompson, very - yes, that's it -" and then she's tightening up, her head falling back as her elbows threaten to give out, her third orgasm of the night overtaking her in a delirious, giddy rush. It leaves her breathless, vision blacking out around the edges, and she topples sideways gracelessly off of Agent Thompson, landing on the floor next to him.

Peggy stares up at the ceiling, trying to catch her breath. It's quiet for a long moment, and she can hear the sounds filtering in from the streets below. Then -

"Ma'am?"

His voice is rough and so, so desperate and Peggy can't help but chuckle. Propping herself up on one elbow, she tilts Agent Thompson's face towards her with two fingers, the skin sticky with her release. She rubs along the line of his jaw gently, so gently, and he looks at her like she's hung the moon. Peggy feels a twinge in her cunt at that, but she's tired - she's done for tonight. Trailing a nail down the side of his neck, between his pectorals, she waits until he's closed his eyes, then pulls her hand back and slaps his chest firmly, leaving behind a bright red handprint over the delicate flesh of his left nipple.

His eyes fly open, and Peggy places a finger over his lips before he can begin to - curse, or beg, or berate, or whatever it is he wants to do. She doesn't care. She wants to go home.

"Do as you'd like, Agent, and make sure to clean the place up before you leave. I'll see you Monday morning."

He glares at her. She rolls her eyes.

She isn't even halfway to the door, straightening her skirt and smoothing her hair as she walks, before she hears him grunt and then let out a sound that sounds like nothing so much as a sob. It's a broken sound; a beaten sound.

Peggy smiles, and walks out into the cool night air.


End file.
